Dream Magic (29 page)

“I wish you hadn’t chased them off. They might have awaken
ed me sooner,” Brand complained while rubbing his neck and trying to rise. He found to his surprise that around his waist, his chainmail was shot through with blades of twisted grass. With a growl, he ripped himself loose.

At that moment, looking at the grass that had grown through the Kindred-forged links, he believed Tomkin. He must have been lying there for
days
. He had to wonder then: what if Tomkin hadn’t been here? What if he’d been left to sleep forever in Twilight? Would he have died in his sleep? Would he have awakened as an ancient and decrepit man? He shuddered at the possibilities.

“All right,” he said at last as he pulled the
final strands of grass from his armor. “I think I might have lain here for longer than three days, but as you say, it’s difficult to tell in this place. Have you figured out where the Trev and the dragon went?”

“Oh yes, this way.”

Brand marched off after his small friend and wondered why he wasn’t ravenously hungry. He suspected it was another trick of this strange land.

When at last they reached the center of the Great Erm, they found a mountain there, in the middle of it. Brand frowned up at the towering structure.

“Odd,” he said. “I’ve read of the Erm and seen primitive maps of the region. There aren’t any mountains like this noted. Look at those cliffs. There are strange growths everywhere.”

Tomkin didn’t answer. Instead, he hopped to one side, then back the other way, gazing and muttering to himself.

“What is it?”

At last, Tomkin turned back to him. “That’s is
n’t a cliff, or a mountain. It’s a tree!”

Brand gaped at him, then turned back to the thing that loomed overhead. He laughed, then stopped and stared.

“I think you’re right. How can that be? There’s never been something so big. Not in all the legends I’ve ever heard.”

“No,” said Tomkin.
“You’re right. It can’t be—but it is.”

“Dare we approach it?”

“This is the direction that Trev went. Do you want to give up the chase?”

Brand
grimaced and rubbed his bearded chin. “No. Let’s see what’s what.”

They marched on, and before they reached the foot of the fantastic growth, which towered up halfway to the clouds themselves, they were stopped by an unexpected
guardian. It was another large, and this one could walk. It was big, but not nearly so large as the monstrous growth it tended.

“What do you want here, Axeman?” asked a voice from within the tree.

Brand peered in surprise. He knew the voice, but the attitude was new and hostile.

“Myrrdin?” he asked.

“I once went by that name. Now, answer my question.”

“Myrrdin, we came to see
k your counsel. I see that you’re alive—and I hope you’re well.”

“I am as you find me. And my health is excellent, thank you. Now, s
tate your purpose and be on your way.”

“Have you seen a boy of the Haven named Trev? He might have been traveling with a
dragon.”

Myrrdin rattled his twigs and thumped closer on his roots.

“Perhaps. Why should I give you any information? What is in this exchange for me?”

“Peace, life, and liberty.”

The tree creature nodded thoughtfully. “Spoken like a true bully. You are a true lord now, Brand. At least you’re acting like one.”

“We two possess the Blue and the Amber,” Brand said. “You can’t stand against us with only the Green. Not even if
you make this monstrosity you’re growing here walk of its own accord.”

“You don’t know what you’
re speaking of.”

“Yes, I think we all do. Let’s have no conflict. We aren’t asking you to cease your questionable activities. This is Oberon’s land, and it is up to him to police those who live in it. We have no problem with you and your trees, Myrrdin. Just tell me about the boy.”

Myrrdin made a strange, rasping sound. After a moment, Brand figured out that he was laughing.

“You were thusly described just two dozen years past, Brand. Do you realize that?
To me, you are still a boy.”

“I do
realize I’m younger, but I’m no fool. You were sane back then as well. Let’s think of those better times. Tell me what I wish to know, and I’ll not bother you further.”

“Oh but you will, now that you know where I am and what I’m doing. You walked in near the end of the great project. See here, the fruits of my labor? I’ve revived the greatest living thing in all history on any of the known worlds.”

“That’s admirable,” Brand said, “but irrelevant. Will you tell me what I want to know?”

“So hasty. So quick to throw away a golden opportunity.”

“What do you mean?”

“That we have similar goals—similar problems.”

Brand looked around the forest carefully. He wondered to himself if Myrrdin was talking in riddles to delay him. Distraction was often followed by a stealthy attack. Seeing no new threats, he turned back to Myrrdin.

“Explain yourself, man.”

Myrrdin began to pace then, back and forth. A path as wide and deep as a cart’s wheel ruts was quickly cut into the forest loam by the writhing roots. Brand thought it was a very odd thing, watching what amounted to a very large walking tree brood as it spoke.

“
We have much in common now. You have the Haven, which you must nurture and protect. I have this tree in an enemy forest. Both of us are under threat, and I think we should help one another and share what we know.”

“Fine. You speak first.”

More raspy laughter. “Such distrust and cynicism! Unsavory in one so young.”

“I’m a child no longer, Myrrdin. Tell me what Trev is doing and then we’ll talk about alliances.”

“Very well. The young half-elf reminds me of myself, but he’s not a mage. He’s a fighter, and I would daresay he takes after his father more than his mother.”

Brand smiled. “You have a point there, but then you may not have met his mother. She’s as tough as nails in her own way.”

“I’m not surprised. In any case, Trev came through here a few days back and I directed him to Oberon’s camp.”

“Did you deceive him concerning the nature of his visit?”

“No. He was to be my spy.”

“Why would he agree to such a thing?”

Myrrdin pointed upward toward a distant glow. Brand and Tomkin craned their necks back and looked up the trunk of the tremendous tree. There, high above, was a reddish flickering.

“What’s that?”

“The dragon, in its cage. Trev seems inexplicably fond of the creature. I used that weakness to my advantage.”

“What a cruel thing you’ve become, Myrrdin,” Tomkin said, entering the conversation.

“On the contrary. I could have killed him, but instead gave him his life and a worthy task. Can you seriously be feeling pity for a dragon?”

Brand lifted his hands to stop the bickering. “All right,” he said. “Fine, you sent Trev to Oberon as a spy. What has he reported?”

“Sadly, nothing. He has been gone for too long—I’m beginning to feel concerned.”

Brand stared at him, then chuckled and shook his head. “Don’t tell me you’re now going to try to send me after the boy? Where one dupe fails, perhaps the second will succeed? I’m the Axeman now, wizard. You’d do well to remember that.”

“I would have difficulty forgetting. But in any case, I’m not forcing you to go. I will say this, though: I think it would be in your best interest to figure out what is happening in our two worlds and to learn the truth with haste.”

“What do you mean?”

“What kind of dreams have you been having, Brand?”

Brand hesitated. He thought of the monsters i
n-between worlds. They’d claimed to be a part of him. Were they real? Or just phantoms from his tortured mind that were conjured up by that tortured place?

“I’ve seen strange things in my mind. I’ve fought between the worlds and won
my way back to this one. I’ve struggled with beings who claimed to be from my dreams, and—I do vaguely recall having seen them there.”

“Ah-ha!” Myrrdin said, lifting one long finger like a walking stick. “I know what has plagued you, and me. It is Dream Magic, the power of the last Jewel.”

“Which one is that?”

“
The White, of course. The Sunstone.”

Tomkin interjected a high-pitched snort of derision. “A myth! A legend!”

“Perhaps it once was a myth,” said Myrrdin. “The White has been called many such things and worse. But it is real enough today, nonetheless.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Myrrdin related to them Trev’s tale, and the tales of other he’d heard concerning the sorceress.

“She twists minds as easily as her own hair,” Myrrdin said. “I sent Trev to learn more of her as well as of Oberon’s doings. I fear
ed the sorceress and my sire were in league somehow. But Trev has not returned, and I now must assume he has failed in his mission.”

“And now I suppose you want me to march to your
father’s village and thrash the truth out of him.”

“No, not today. I have my tree, to which I must tend. It is young
yet and vulnerable. And you, sir, have been gone too long from your home. The people you care about are calling for you, and it can’t be to tell you good news.”

Brand frowned. “How do you know this? I’ve heard nothing.”

“I’m called a wizard, remember? That’s not because I rule more Power with the Jewels than any other does. But I have some power outside the reach of the Nine Eyes. You know this.”

“Yes, it is why they call you or anyone else a magician.”

“Humph. Magicians are charlatans. But in any case, I can see the efforts your people have been using to call you. Here, let me help.”

Myrrdin walked two dozen paces toward the great forest. Brand and Tomkin followed him warily. His strides were so
long it took them a hundred steps to catch up.

At last, Myrrdin reached up and spread two branches apart, asking them to gaze through the middle. They did, and they were surprised at what they saw.

A tiny candle burned in space. It hung there, impossibly far from any source of fuel or support. Like a tiny white light suspended in open air.

“A beacon,” Brand said. “It must be Telyn. Why does she burn a beacon?”

“To call you home. You must go and protect your brood, as I fear I might need them, and you might need me.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“That we agree to support one another—should things go badly, and we both need it.”

“I have a castle, a people, and an army. What do you have to offer?”

Myrrdin let the branches weave together again, and indicated the great tree with a wave of his highest branches.

“I have…my
new body.”

Brand looked from him, to the massive tree, and back again. He nodded. “I understand. An army of one.”

“Exactly.”

“But what about Trev, and the Witch of the Wood?”
demanded Tomkin.

Myrrdin turned his great body to face Tomkin, who looked at them both in sudden alarm.

“Whoa!” he said. “I’m not anyone’s dupe.”

“No,” Myrrdin said. “You are a member of this alliance. But your people are scattered and wily. They can’t be taken out in with a single stroke. Brand and I have things to protect. You are freer of action. I would ask that you join us, and for your part, you go to learn the truth of the matter. What has happened at Oberon’s village? Is the sorceress in league with him?”

Tomkin huffed and fumed, but in time he was convinced. With many complaints, he darted off into the trees in the direction of the elf stronghold.

Brand looked after him in concern. “I count him a friend. Will he be alright?”

“I’m a wizard, not a seer.”

“Very well. I must be off. Which way will take me most quickly to the Haven?”

Myrrdin marched alongside him through the trees where a small, forgotten mound encircled with black mushrooms sat. Brand didn’t like the place, but supposed it would do. He began to walk the circle, when Myrrdin put up a cautionary branch of warning.

“Have a care. Watch the mushrooms. They will poison your breath if you brush them with your foot. They grow over the corpses of past careless travelers.”

Heeding the advice, Brand walked among the mushrooms very carefully indeed.

Chapter Thirteen

Tomkin’s Surprise

Tomkin, like all Wee Folk, prided himself on his swift feet and his tricksy mind. As he followed t
he trail through the Great Erm he soon realized where the course was going and veered from the path. He didn’t want to approach the elf village head on. That was not the Wee Folk way.

There was never night nor day in this place, so there was no reason to wait. He traveled around the village when he came to the region and circled it twice before daring to get closer.

He saw the elves were up to something as he approached the great walls. He wrinkled his thin, candle-stick nose at the flavors of smoke in the air—what was that? Burning meat, but he could not assess the source. Elves didn’t often eat meat, and when they did they preferred light fare, birds, shellfish and the like. This didn’t smell like that. It smelled like a heavy, fat-filled meat. And there was the acrid taint of burning hair in the midst of that smoke as well, he would swear by it.

At last, his curiosity forced him to creep closer. Wee Folk are even more alert and stealthy than forest elves, but they have their limits. Tomkin was nervous and wide-eyed as he reached the outskirts of the village proper.

His mouth opened in surprise, forming a perfect O. What was this? Did they playact?

No. They were dead. Scores of them. Their fine white hands curled as they reached from under crushed mushrooms. They lay in the final repose of
all living things. So many! Even though these elves were enemies of his, he could not help but be shocked by the loss.

He crept from body to body, crushed hut to
crushed hut, ever coming closer to the source of the cloying, thick smoke.

Sudden
ly, before he could bound away, a figure appeared atop a mushroom fresh-grown.

Tomkin froze. He knew the figure, and by the nature of the mushroom cap he stood upon he knew that the elves had regrown their village at least in part.

The elf that stood on a high perch was Oberon, and he was gazing down into the fiery mess that was the producing the thick smoke.

Tomkin glanced around himself, understanding now that the elves who
lay dead in profusion were not killed today. They’d been left to lie there for weeks—maybe even months. This was not the way of any civilized people much less elves. He was at a loss to explain why they would simply rebuild next to their own dead, leaving the bodies of loved one stacked like cordwood. Had they all gone mad at once?

“Today, we shall feast,” Oberon was saying, addressing people Tomkin could not see for the smoke. “We shall take thick boar meat into our bodies and toughen ourselves. We are few, but we must each gather an army to our banner. We shall march at
the head of a horde before we’re done!”

Tomkin cocked his head, no less surprised to hear Oberon’s words than he had been
at finding their discarded dead. Whatever was going on, the elves seemed to have lost some of their sanity. It was a chilling thought, as they were a powerful people. Normally, their actions were predictable as long as one understood their ways.

“The Great Tree slew many of us, but not all. Each day, more elves arrive from distant clans to join us seeking revenge.
Our loved ones will not be forgotten. When we have a thousand bows in our collective hands, we will hunt down the Tree and kill the rotten spider that sits in its heart.”

Tomkin wanted to laugh at this. Myrrdin
was
an old, rotten spider if ever there was one. But he was given pause again, because he realized now that Myrrdin must have caused all this damage to the village. He’d killed his own kin here. It was a shocking thing, something that Myrrdin had left out of his tale.

“And now,” Oberon said, “
douse the flames and make ready for the feast. I would call upon our guest of honor to join us in the festivities!”

A cheer went up from the white throats of a hundred elves. The smoke had begun to clear, and Tomkin could see them now. They were dressed as elves
often did when seeking war: each wore a tunic of finely sewn leather, studded with bits of metal and stone. Bows were slung over their backs and short, curving blades rode at their hips.

Tomkin rose up from his hiding place, standing on his tiptoes to see who the guest of honor was.

The elves rushed forward then, casting pails of water on the great fire. After a gout of choking steam dissipated, he could see what the elves had been roasting. It was a gigantic boar the size of a tavern. It was huge! The hair had burnt away and the meat had been seared, but was obviously raw in places.

The elves did not seem to care. The
y drew their curved blades and hacked at the monster, removing glistening hunks of hot meat. They filled their hands and plates then returned to their seats and began to loudly consume the boar meat.

Tomkin wasn’t disgusted
as he’d eaten worse in his life—far worse. But he was baffled by this newfound behavior in the elves. They were more like barbaric humans than highborn creatures of the trees.

He dared to creep farther
forward until he stood behind a shield carved in the shape of a leaf. He suspected that the honored guest Oberon had spoken of would be the sorceress. He wanted to see this witch and take her measure for himself. But she was not in view.

Oberon lowered his arms to his hips and gazed around the crowd expectantly.

“Not eating with us, my guest? How rude!”

Then, with
fantastic speed, he leapt down and rushed to the leaf-shaped shield Tomkin sheltered behind and snatched it away.

“Here he is!” he roared.

An answering chorus of laughter rose from the rest.

“Tomkin, my honored guest, where are you going?”

Tomkin was three hops toward the village walls by the time he heard those words. He dared to halt. Slowly, he turned around. He drew himself up to his full height and cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry, I thought perhaps you
were speaking to another. You do have another guest here, don’t you, Lord Oberon?”

“I have many honored guests. But tonight, none so fine as you
! None who can cause the rainbow to march at their whim as once did I! Will you not stay for a time?”

Tomkin licked his thin lips and his eyes darted around the scene.
He knew Oberon may still be angry about Lavatis, the Blue Jewel. Long years ago, Oberon had wielded the Blue Jewel and considered it his possession. But, as is ever the case with Wee Folk and possessions, one of Tomkin’s kind relieved the elf lord of the burden. Now Tomkin wielded the Blue while Oberon wielded the Red. That seemed to Tomkin to be a fair exchange, but some folk might still harbor sore feelings concerning the matter.

Tomkin eyed the fire and the foul animal they roasted over it.
The elves were feasting on the meat they’d taken. They were barely looking at him. Instead, they chewed and ripped at their chunks of pig meat like hungry dogs attacking a fallen calf.

“I thank you, Lord Oberon,” Tomkin said formally, “b
ut I just came by to—”

“Nonsense!” said Oberon, cutting him off. “I’ll
not hear of it. Don’t be rude…join us!”

At the mention of the word
rude
, Tomkin froze. It was a dangerous word when spoke by the Faerie. They might use rudeness as an excuse for any kind of horrible act, maintaining afterward their cruelty was necessary to right a perceived wrong.

On the other hand, accepting the hospitality of an elf, while not a guarantee there would be no mischief, went a long way toward establishing rules of honor during the meeting. There were things they would not do—lest they be perceived as
rude
themselves.

“Of course I accept your offer,” Tomkin said quickly.

Deciding to get it over with and not knowing exactly what Oberon’s game was, he said formally: “I will share your hearth and fire. I will sup with you, in peace, as is our shared tradition.”

The group fell silent at this announcement All eyes trav
eled to Oberon, who stood stalk-still for a moment. Tomkin had raised the stakes by suggesting the offer of shared food at this fire established a relationship of host and guest between them. This mattered greatly, as to harm one’s guest created a great loss of honor for the host.

Oberon inclined his head forward
after pausing, giving the tiniest of nods. Instantly, Tomkin scuttled forward and hacked free a choice bit of meat, a triangular section of the beast’s massive, flapping ear. He opened his alarmingly large mouth and bit off a big chunk, chewing contentedly.

“We should do this sort of thing more often!” he said after his first half-dozen bites.

“Undoubtedly.”

Oberon watched Tomkin closely as the other ate, but Tomkin
calculated he was safe from unpleasantness for now. He stood upon a fallen log lined with elves in battle armor who chewed as if they were wild Wee Folk themselves—or many even rhinogs.

“Why
are you geared for war, Oberon?” Tomkin asked, “if I may be so bold as to ask, that is.”

“Because war has been brought to
us
!” Oberon shouted back. His company of elves cheered his words, pumping their fists high. Tomkin frowned at the uncharacteristic display of bravado.

“And who do you war upon?”

Oberon swaggered close. He had a rib the size of a sword in his hand, and he waved it at Tomkin after sucking meat from it.

“We war upon the Great Tree.”

“You mean Myrrdin?”

The elves fell quiet. Oberon looked at him.

“What do you know of the wizard?”

“I know he’s your son, and you kept him locked in an underground prison until he went mad.”

The elves stared. Their eyes slid as one from Tomkin to Oberon, who in turn stood gazing down at Tomkin.

“What would you know of that matter?
” Oberon asked. “Are you in league with the Great Tree?”

Tomkin shrugged. “You should know better than that. He has certain
interesting ideas, but he’s clearly a mad-thing.”

The tension seemed to drain from the elves. Then, as Tomkin looked over his shoulder at the fallen elves nearby, he thought he understood now.

“Myrrdin rampaged and killed your people, didn’t he, Oberon? That’s why there is a mass of unburied, fallen elves in your village.”

“Yes,” the old elf said softly. “And we plan to hunt
the Great Tree down for its sins. The foulness in the heart of that tree is like sap gone bad. We will burn out the trunk until nothing but a cinder of the old goat remains.”

“Sound policy, that,” Tomkin said conversationally around a
second helping. The mass of pig’s ear was chewy and he worked his jaws methodically. “But I’m not sure how you will go about bringing down the tree... I mean, all you have are knives and bows. He’s not going to be knocked flat with such tiny weapons. And as to burning—where is your source of flame?”

“We have flame aplenty,” said a new voice. This voice was querulous and ancient, but feminine all the same.

Tomkin stood, letting his pig’s ear drop into the dirt and lie there to fester. He could not believe his eyes.

A
figure had walked onto the scene. She was not the sorceress that Tomkin had been expecting. Instead of white satin, she wore a rough tunic of thick leather, shot through with rivets. Instead of a comely face, she had the leering look of a wizened crone.

What was even more surprising was her point of entry onto the scene. She did not come from a fungi hut, nor from the edge of the village. Instead, she walked out of the massive fire over which the great pig was roasted.

“Gudrin? Queen of the Kindred?” Tomkin asked aloud, scarcely able to believe his eyes.

“The same,” Gudrin sai
d. “Who else did you expect? I’m here to burn out the Great Tree. As Oberon has explained, it is the only way.

Tomkin was stunned. The Queen of the Kindred should be in her halls beneath Snowdon, not feasting with elves in the Twilight Lands.

“Where is your retinue, Lady?” he asked. “It is not seemly for a Queen to walk the wilds alone.”

“Where is
your
retinue, impertinent manling?” she retorted. “You’re the leader of your people, the same as I am of mine. I walk where I will and do as I please—when something needs doing.”

Oberon clapped slowly, making each popping sound of his hands ring loud in the forest.

“Well said, milady!” he shouted. “And as you say, we have great need of your flame.”

Tomkin looked from one of them to the other, and a chill ran through him. They were not acting like themse
lves. Each had a feral light burning in their eyes—a look of secret pleasure.

Tomkin was not a creature of slow wit and thoughtfulness. His kind had not survived the ages as the smallest of intelligent folk without having developed instincts that would make any housecat proud.

“I have the perfect thing to aid this mission!” he cried, and he drew Lavatis from his tunic.